


Broughten

by Dolimir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam reflects on the differences between Sam and Sammy and what it all means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broughten

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 1.
> 
> "Broughten" is a joke between my son and I. Hopefully, it's meaning will become clear during the story.

“This isn’t going to turn out the way you want.” Sam pitched his voice to be as threatening as he could. He'd once turned Jess’ Biology TA into a quivering pile of apologetic goo using this voice. The bastard had had it coming though by being a little too handsy with what he perceived to be a pretty blonde worrying about her lab grade, never dreaming that her boyfriend was taking the same class.

His current adversary, however, looked nonplussed.

“I mean it, D--”

The slushy snowball dripping from his forehead cut off his remaining thought. For a moment, he tried to gather his patience and take the high road. After all, they’d been cramped in the Impala for over six hours; their only wish for the end of the day being a hot meal and a quiet, warm room where they might catch a couple hours of sleep before the full moon rose.

But when the second snowball parted his hair, he decided that patience could screw itself.

“You’re going down, bitch.”

Dean didn’t even bother with his usual tactic of pasting on his most innocent smile and shrugging his shoulders in _‘who me’_ wonder. Instead, he slapped both of his hands against his leather-encased chest, daring Sam to do his worst. “Bring it, baby brother.”

“Oh, it’s brought.” Sam gathered snow off the roof of the Impala even as he stalked around the car.

Though his face was serious, Dean’s eyes danced with wicked mischief as he backed toward the trunk of the car.

“Where’re are you going, fucker?” Sam flung a snowball in a hard sideways arc, which only missed Dean because he managed to twist out of the way at the last moment. Sam used the distraction to close the distance between them, causing Dean to yelp in surprise and scramble down the length of the car.

“Sammy. Sammy. Sammy. Sammy.” The words were sing-songed mockingly.

“It’s Sam, damn it. Why can’t you get that through your thick head?”

The humor in Dean’s eyes dissipated just like the little puffs of frozen moisture that were created every time he spoke. “Because Sam’s an uptight wannabe yuppie with a stick stuck so far up his ass he wouldn’t know fun if it gave him a lap dance. Sammy at least remembered to smile every once in a while.”

With that, Dean turned and trudged through the thigh-high snow toward the little cabin they had rented for the duration of the job.

Sam blinked, surprised not only by the harshness of the words, but the quiet longing that underlied them. Anger flowed through him, warming him against the crisp winter air. He had a right to be angry, damn it. Jess was dead and their father was doing his best to turn _Where’s Waldo_ into some sort of live action game.

Sammy, at least the Sammy Dean seemed to be remembering, had grown up a lifetime ago. He was no longer Dean’s adoring shadow. He was a man who'd been ripped out of his comfortable life and thrust back into a life he never wanted.

How dare he...

But the anger died as quickly as it blossomed when he realized his comfortable life would have been destroyed whether or not Dean had come back for him. And, if Dean hadn’t returned, Sam would've likely died in the fire that took Jess, unwilling or unable to leave her pinned to the ceiling like some bizarre science exhibit.

With a startling clarity, Sam realized that Dean had lost his ‘life’ as well when their father had abandoned him, leaving him floundering in the real world, without guidance as to the next or right course of action. And so Dean had fallen back to his baseline position of watching Sammy, of keeping Sammy safe. Dean never just watched out for Sam physically, but emotionally as well. If Dean wanted him to smile every once in a while, he supposed he could make an effort to try.

Sam released a deep breath as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He noticed the stiff line of his brother’s back, knowing that Dean was trying to keep Sam’s anger from penetrating any deeper than it already had.

Ruefully shaking his head, Sam raced after his brother. Dean turned when he heard him, concern etching his face, no doubt wondering what was causing his brother to move so fast on such a cold day.

Sam tackled him, their combined weight causing both of them to sink into the deep snow.

“Sam, what the--”

But Sam was already digging into the snow beside him and trying to shove frozen handfuls down Dean’s jacket.

“Wannabe yuppie? What sort of lame ass insult is that?” He huffed, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice as Dean struggled to dislodge him. While Dean had more experience and was all muscle, Sam was no longer the gawky teenager who couldn’t control his long limbs. He also had the advantage of having semi-packed snow encasing them, which meant Dean couldn’t just roll away. “You’re getting slow, old man, if this wannabe yuppie can take your sorry ass down.”

Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to question his parentage, so Sam stuffed it with snow. He laughed hard and loud when Dean spewed it upward, then made a big production of looking sad while he patted Dean’s chest even before his brother was done sputtering.

“Consider yourself broughten, grandpa.”

Sam pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Dean’s surprised squawk of pain as he leveraged off his brother’s chest, knowing it was a strategically unsound move, but needing to get a feel of where Dean’s head was at. He didn’t have to wait long. Dean’s legs kicked outward, a move that under different circumstances would have unbalanced Sam and sent him falling backward -- that is, if his legs hadn’t been braced by the snow.

A smirk grew over his face, but disappeared when Dean lunged upward, grabbed his jacket, and rolled backward, tossing Sam over him and into an area of unblemished snow. Sam flipped over and scrambled to his knees, just in time to see Dean launch himself at him.

“Old man? Bitch, I’ll show you old man!”

They went down in a heap, rolling over and over, grabbing handfuls of snow and shoving them wherever they could until both were sputtering with exhaustion and laughter.

“You give yet, Sammy?” Dean’s question was semi-hopeful as he lay a few feet away.

Sam grinned mischievously at him. “Never.”

“Yeah, well...” Dean eyed the cabin. “Dibs on the shower.” Without another word, he shoved himself to his feet and raced toward the cabin’s front door.

Sam scrambled after him, but knew Dean would reach it first, which was fine by him. Even if the bathroom door happened to have a lock, Dean was so getting a snow shower. So, so getting it.


End file.
